


Times Without Number

by sarcasm_and_sabres



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Brotherly Love, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14287236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasm_and_sabres/pseuds/sarcasm_and_sabres
Summary: It’s always better, around Alex.It’s not that Alex takes care of Willy exactly, but something in Willy’s chest always seems to settle when his brother is there, the usual tightness dissipating and letting him really breathe.But then he’s away from his brother and even though they’re not that far and he’s with his father and he’s playing hockey, he’s doing what he loves, everything is – harder. Breathing is especially harder. But it’s nothing. It’s fine. Willy is good enough to be here and he can handle being without his brother. He’s fine.





	Times Without Number

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for anxiety and graphic descriptions of panic attacks. Non explicit mention of a minor injury. I don't think there's anything else, but let me know if I need to warn for something else.
> 
> If you or someone you know personally is tagged in this work, please close out of this now.

It’s always better, around Alex.

It’s not that Alex takes care of Willy exactly, but something in Willy’s chest always seems to settle when his brother is there, the usual tightness dissipating and letting him really breathe.

Willy hadn’t even realized it was an issue when he was young. He doesn’t remember a time before Alex was there, and they spent their whole childhoods together, more like twins than just brothers. They were happy and joyful and Willy could always breathe.

 

 

But then he goes away to play hockey, and leaves Alex behind. The family is more worried about Alex than him, and Willy is too, concerned about his brother being alone. He’ll be fine, of course. He’s the older brother and it’s his job to look after Alex, not the other way around.

But then he’s away from his brother and even though they’re not that far and he’s with his father and he’s playing hockey, he’s doing what he loves, everything is – harder. Breathing is especially harder. But it’s nothing. It’s fine. Willy is good enough to be here and he can handle being without his brother. He’s fine.

Except he’s not.

He manages to ignore it most of the time, but one morning he wakes up and he just – can’t. He can’t bring himself to get out of bed and he can’t breathe and he doesn’t want this but he can’t do anything and–

He’s called Alex before he’s even realized he had his phone out. Which is dumb, because it’s too early to call Alex and he’s crying and he can’t breathe and he’s just going to freak Alex out and his father is just in another room and-

 _“Willy?”_ Alex asks, voice a little hazy with sleep, and Willy nearly sobs in relief. _“Willy, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”_

“Alex,” Willy gasps out, clutching the phone so tightly that his hand starts to ache. “Alex, I’m sorry.”

 _“Willy, what’s happened?”_ Alex sounds nearly frantic now and fully awake. _“Willy, are you hurt? Where’s Dad?”_

“No, no, I’m-I’m okay,” Willy manages, trying to take a deep breath. He’s not really successful, but the tight band that had been strangling his chest is slowly loosening. “Can you just – talk to me?”

 _“Fuck, okay, yeah,”_ Alex takes a deep breath on the other end of the line, and Willy uses that to try to match it. Alex is here, it’s fine. It’s fine now. _“So, yesterday evening, Jenny was…”_

Willy just lets Alex’s voice wash over him, curling up and hugging his knees to his chest as his breathing slowly comes more easily. Just hearing his brother’s voice is making him feel better than he’s been in weeks.

Eventually, Willy’s tears taper off, and he can take multiple deep breaths in a row. Alex breaks off in the middle of recounting something their mother had done.

 _“Are you okay now?”_ Alex sounds a little rattled, but his voice is still soothing for Willy.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry,” Willy says, flushing even though Alex can’t see him. He shouldn’t be crying randomly and needing his brother’s reassurance.

_“What happened?”_

Willy sighs and buries his head in his hands. “Nothing. It’s not a big deal. I’m sorry.”

 _“Stop apologizing, you don’t ever have to apologize for calling me,”_ Alex says. He sounds concerned instead of angry, but Willy’s heartbeat still picks up slightly. _“Why were you crying? Are you hurt?”_

“No, I just - I don’t know. Freaked out a little, I guess,” Willy admits. “It’s nothing.”

 _“Willy, this isn’t nothing. Don’t make me call Dad and make him talk to you,”_ Alex threatens. 

“Fine,” Willy sighs. Alex knows him too well to let Willy brush this aside, unfortunately. “It just – gets like this sometimes. It’s better when I’m talking to you. It’s fine.”

“ _That’s – it’s not fine, Willy,”_ Alex says. _“That’s the fucking opposite of fine. You just randomly start crying?”_

“No, it’s not that. I just feel really anxious and it’s hard to breathe sometimes when I get like that,” Willy explains. 

_“That…sounds like a panic attack, and that’s not any better. What are you anxious about?”_ Alex asks.

“Nothing, I guess. It just happens. It’s not a big deal,” Willy tries to insist. He highly doubts Alex will let it go, because his brother is an expert at worrying unnecessarily about him.

 _“This is absolutely a big deal, Willy. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. I think you should talk to Dad,”_ Alex insists.

“No, no, I don’t – I can’t tell Dad,” Willy says quickly, biting his lip. “I can’t tell him that I keep being weak and freaking out over nothing. He’ll think I’m not cut out for this and make me go home, and I can’t do that. Please, Alex, don’t tell Dad.”

_“He’s not going to think that, Willy. You’re not weak. You might just have anxiety or something. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”_

“I can’t go to the NHL if I have anxiety, Alex!” Willy snaps. “I’m fine! You can’t say anything to Dad, I swear to God, Alex-“

 _“Okay, okay, I won’t!”_ Alex agrees, but he doesn’t sound happy about it. _“But if it happens again, will you at least think about saying something? Please?”_

“It’s not going to happen again,” Willy says determinedly. He won’t be weak and allow this to be a regular occurrence. He’s just settling in to a new place and a new team, is all. “But fine. If it does, I will.”

 

 

It does happen again. Less than two days later, after Willy’s had an awful game. He hadn’t scored and he had made a couple of dumb plays and taken a bad check, and he’s just feeling pretty awful all around. His dad had sent him to bed with a pile of ice packs and a concerned look, but Willy had nearly run into his room to get away from him. 

He drops the ice packs on the floor and shuts the door behind him, dropping to the ground and curling up against it. The position makes his ribs ache even more, and he’d thought that this would help but it’s making it even harder to breathe and he doesn’t know what to do.

His phone rings, startling Willy as he’s gasping for breath. He glances down at the screen, seeing his brother’s name lighting it up. He fumbles to answer it, pressing the button for speaker as he does, because Alex will be worried if he doesn’t, and he doesn’t need Alex calling their dad and finding him in here like this.

 _“Willy?”_ Alex’s voice comes from the phone on the floor next to him. _“Dad said you’re acting a little weird. Are you okay?”_

Willy tries to get his breath back, because he needs to answer Alex, but he’s only getting shallow breaths that are doing nothing to help him. The band around his chest is tightening to the point where he feels like he’s being strangled.

 _“Fuck, Willy, are you having another panic attack?”_ Alex asks. _“Willy, can you breathe?”_

“N-no,” Willy manages. He’s starting to feel lightheaded and like he’s going to cry, and he has no fucking idea why. “Alex-“

_“Hey, you’re okay, Willy, okay? Can you just breathe with me? In for three, c’mon, and out for three. You’re okay, just match your breathing to mine.”_

Alex counts out his breaths through the phone, and it takes awhile, but gradually Willy manages to get actual air in. His chest is loosening and he’s exhausted and drained and yet somehow more settled than he had been before Alex had called.

“Sorry, Alex,” Willy whispers, letting go of his knees and leaning his head back against the door.

 _“Will you please talk to Dad now?”_ Alex says, and he’s nearly begging. Willy’s heart clenches at the thought of causing his brother pain.

“I can’t,” he admits. Even the thought of telling his father something like this threatens to bring the band back to strangle him again. Willy and Alex are supposed to follow in his footsteps and go to the NHL and Willy can’t disappoint him by revealing that he’s so weak that he’ll never make it to the NHL.

 _“Want me to tell him for you?”_ Alex offers. _“I just want you to be okay.”_

“I…” Willy trails off. He does want this to go away. He wants to be able to breathe all the time and to not randomly have twists of anxiety that make him feel almost nauseous. He’s not sure that telling their dad will do anything, though. The only time Willy doesn’t feel anxious is when he’s around Alex, and it’s not like he can just keep Alex with him at all times. “Maybe?”

 _“If you’re okay now, I’ll call and tell him,”_ Alex says. Willy sighs, clenching a hand around his phone.

“Thanks, Alex. You’re the best,” Willy says.

Alex ends the call, and Willy reaches out a still slightly shaking hand to scoop up the scattered ice packs. His dad will doubtless want to talk to him after Alex has called, and he can’t be curled on the floor when his dad comes in. He only makes it as far as his bed, burrowing himself in the blankets and trying to resist the urge to hide and sleep forever, but it’s better than being on the floor.

Well before Willy is ready, there’s a firm knock on his door. “Can I come in?” Michael asks, and Willy swallows down the reflexive spike of anxiety that pops up. 

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely, pushing himself into a slightly more upright position.

“Hey,” Michael says, coming in and closing the door quietly behind him. He perches on the edge of Willy’s bed, reaching out for the ice packs that are now strewn across the blanket. “You should be using these.”

“Sorry,” Willy mutters, taking it from his father and settling it against his aching ribs. 

“So your brother called me,” Michael says slowly. “He said you’ve been having panic attacks.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Willy fights to keep his voice even, staring pointedly at his blanket and not at his father. 

“Will, how long has this been going on? Why didn’t you talk to me?” Michael asks, and he sounds disappointed. Willy swallows harshly. He knew his dad would react like this.

“It just seemed like one of those things I have to learn how to deal with on my own,” Willy mumbles, still not looking at his father.

“No, Will,” Michael sounds upset now, and Willy flinches. “That’s not normal. You shouldn’t have to feel this way, and we can get you help for it.”

“I can’t go to the NHL if I’m…like this,” Willy says, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“That’s not true at all,” Michael says. “The only thing that matters is your hockey ability. You can manage anything else, and we’ll all be here to help you.”

“So you’re not…mad at me?”

“Please look at me, Will,” Michael says, and Willy chances a quick glance up at his father, still refusing to meet his eyes. Michael looks upset, but not angry or disappointed. “I’m not mad at all. I’m proud of you for being strong enough to deal with this, but I don’t want you to have to deal with it. Will you let us get you help?”

 

 

So Willy gets diagnosed with anxiety, and he gets medication that he can take when it gets bad and it’s – fine. He goes to see a therapist a few times to learn coping mechanisms, and it gets better, at least. He can still feel the band around his chest, but most of the time it’s just reminding him of its presence, not strangling him. He can ignore it most of the time, and when he can’t, Alex can always talk him down.

 

 

It takes awhile to get the medication right, though. He’s reluctant to take it during the season, not wanting to mess with his playing, which he can tell his family isn’t happy about, but nobody says anything. Willy isn’t sure why or how he’s getting away with that – probably Alex’s influence, and he’s certainly not going to complain about it.

Willy works with his other coping mechanisms, but mostly it’s Alex who helps him. His brother has apparently researched how to help someone get through a panic attack, which definitely didn’t make Willy cry when Alex mentioned that. Definitely not. In his defense, he had just come off a panic attack, so he doesn’t think it counts.

Going home for the summer is more of a relief that it’s ever been. Willy loves hockey, wants to spend all his time playing, but he’s so exhausted. Being away from most of his family – his brother, if he’s being honest – has been harder than he expected. Even more than that, the constant anxiety is dragging him down, keeping him from getting as much sleep as he needs and draining him throughout the day.

Alex is the first one to greet him when he and their dad get back, nearly tackling him the moment he walks through the door. Willy smiles automatically, dropping his bags so he can hug his brother back.

“I’ve missed you,” Alex says, holding Willy so tightly that his warmth replaces the cold tightness of the band that usually wraps around his chest. He rests his head against his brother’s shoulder, feeling the tension flood out of him. This is the most relaxed he’s felt since leaving Alex.

“Me too,” Willy says, holding onto his brother a little longer when Alex starts to pull away. A moment later, he finally lets go, allowing Alex to step back and study him.

Alex’s smile dims, concern reflected in his usually bright eyes. “You look exhausted. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m a little bit tired,” Willy admits. In truth, feeling truly relaxed again lets him feel like he can actually sleep. He hadn’t had much hope for a truly restful summer before he’d gotten back, convinced that his anxiety would continue to get the better of him. Now, though, with Alex here and the chance to work out dealing with his medication, he feels like he might be able to turn things around. 

“Why don’t you go say hi to everyone else and then take a nap before dinner?” Alex suggests. It’ll concern the rest of his family, and certainly Alex, but it’s so tempting. “You just played a long season, none of us will hold it against you.”

“I think I’ll do that,” Willy agrees, hating himself for how Alex looks more concerned at his easy acquiescence. He’ll talk to his brother and sort things out once he’s better rested and less drained.

 

 

The first two weeks at home, Willy doesn’t have to worry about dealing with his medication, because life easily slips back to how it had been before he’d left to play. He and Alex and their sisters work out and play tennis and ball hockey together and spend long days out in the sun together. The only time Willy has trouble catching his breath is when he and Alex go on runs together, pushing each other in the early Swedish chill. 

Not that it can last, though, because he wakes up one morning already feeling like he can barely breathe. He struggles to sit up in bed, trying to suck in a deep breath as he fumbles for the phone on his nightstand. His shaking hand can’t get a grip, and his phone goes skittering across the floor with a clatter. Willy stares after it, wrapping his arms around his knees and trying to slow his breaths. His brain is too scrambled for him to keep focused on counting long enough for his lungs to actually cooperate.

“Willy?” There’s a hesitant knock from his brother on the door. “Can I come in?”

Willy opens his mouth to tell Alex that of course he can, but all that comes out is a raspy breath. He can’t get enough air in and Alex can help but Willy can’t get him to come in and so he’ll probably end up passing out because he can’t get enough oxygen and-

“Oh, Willy,” he hears Alex say, and then warm arms are pulling him against Alex’s chest. He’s wheezing and sobbing into his brother’s chest as Alex runs a hand reassuringly down his back. “In for three, come on, slowly. You can breathe, you’re okay. In and out with me, you’ve got it.”

The cadence of Alex’s voice and his hand rubbing Willy’s back in time with the rhythm he’s trying to get Willy to breathe to works better than Alex trying to talk him down across the phone. Willy had anticipated it being a bad one, but it takes a lot less time than usual before the lightheadedness fades and he can take in a full breath.

“Sorry,” Willy mutters, face still pressed into Alex’s chest. He can’t bear to look at his brother’s face right now and see Alex’s embarrassment at having such a weak brother.

“Don’t be sorry,” Alex soothes. He keeps rubbing Willy’s back and holding him. 

“I’m sorry.” Willy shakes his head. He shouldn’t be like this, he should be better than this. His little brother shouldn’t have to be the one looking out for him, it should be the other way around.

“I’m never going to mind helping you when you need me,” Alex says. He sounds upset, and Willy shakes in his arms, certain that he’ll never be able to look his little brother and see anything but pity in his eyes. Pity because Willy’s too weak to even deal with his own shit. “Hey, Willy, listen to me. Look at me.”

Willy shakes his head mutely, refusing to move. He can’t see the pity in Alex’s face right now, he’ll have another panic attack. 

“I’m sorry, ‘m not good enough,” Willy mutters. 

“What?” Alex sounds genuinely surprised, and Willy almost risks a glance up. “Willy, please look at me.”

The pleading note in his brother’s voice finally convinces him to meet Alex’s gaze. He can’t listen to Alex sound so hurt, especially since it's because of him. But when he looks up, there’s none of the pity he expected, nor disappointment. Alex just looks hurt and confused. 

“What do you mean you’re not good enough?”

“I’m weak, I keep letting this get the best of me, I shouldn’t need to have you come in here in the middle of the night and hold me like a little kid,” Willy confesses. 

Alex is already shaking his head as Willy’s speaking. “No, Willy, no, none of that is right. It’s-it’s an issue with your brain, it’s not your fault, it’s not weak. You’re so strong for dealing with this, it’s not any of those things,” Alex’s words are tumbling out, half-frantic but as sincere as Willy’s ever heard his brother. “Everyone needs help sometimes, it’s not – you’re not like a kid, you’re like my brother. You’re my incredibly strong brother and I want to help you in any way I can.”

“That’s not true, no other hockey players are weak like this,” Willy says. It can’t be true. Professional hockey players don’t have mental health problems, and it’s because they have to be mentally strong and this isn’t being strong.

“Listen to me,” Alex says insistently, cupping Willy’s face in his free hand. “It’s not weakness. I promise you, it’s not weakness. That you’re able to deal with this is strength. When you make it to the NHL – and you will, I know that – it’ll be because you’re even stronger than anyone else.”

“That doesn’t-“ Willy leans back into Alex’s chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Alex insists. “You’re fine. You’re still my amazing big brother and nothing’s gonna change that.”

Willy sniffles, rubbing his eyes. “I love you, Alex.”

“I love you too, Willy,” Alex hugs him tighter. “Are you doing better now? Do you need me to get you water or your medication or something?”

“No, I’m okay now. I’m just tired. Will you…” Willy hesitates, not wanting to reveal even more of his weakness to his brother. But he’s already shown Alex so much, and if anybody will accept him despite it, it’s Alex. “It’s better when you’re touching me. Will you stay?”

“Of course,” Alex says immediately. He lets go of Willy for a moment, moving so they can lie down side by side. He wraps an arm around Willy's shoulders, keeping Willy close and grounded. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

 

 

“Hey, Willy,” Alex pokes his head into Willy’s room in Sweden later that summer. His hair is even blonder than usual thanks to the summer sun, and he’s holding something behind his back. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Willy says, feet propped up on his desk. Something in Alex’s expression seems more serious, though, so he sits upright and swivels his chair to fully face his brother. “What’s up?”

“I got you something.” Alex perches on the edge of his desk, holding out a wrapped box to him. He’s got a similarly-sized box in his other hand, but that one isn’t wrapped.

“It’s not my birthday, since when have you decided to randomly do things for me?” Willy takes the box, grinning at his brother as he unwraps it.

“Shut up.” Alex rolls his eyes at him and kicks idly at the leg of the desk. Raising an eyebrow at his brother’s antics, Willy tears off the wrapping paper and opens the box. Inside is nestled a silver necklace. Willy lifts it out, rubbing his thumb over the raised pattern on the rectangular pendant. 

“Thanks, Alex,” Willy smiles, undoing the clasp and holding it out for his brother to put on. Alex’s hands are warm against his neck, a sharp contrast with the cool metal settling against his skin. “What’s the occasion?”

Alex shrugs, opening his own box to reveal a matching one. “I saw them and thought they suited us. And…I thought it might help you with your anxiety a bit. You said it’s better when I’m around, and I can’t always be around, but, you know, you can wear this. It was just a dumb idea, you don’t have to.”

Willy wraps his hand around Alex’s, taking the box from him so he can fasten the matching necklace around Alex’s neck. “It’s not dumb at all, it’s really sweet. Thank you.”

Alex smiles again, tapping his fingers against Willy’s necklace. “Yeah? We’ll probably get chirped for them.”

“Who cares?” Willy asks. “You already get chirped for your weird face and inferior flow, what’s one more thing?”

“Rude!” Alex squawks, and Willy can tell a moment beforehand that he’s going to lunge for him. He throws himself out of the chair, but Alex still manages to tackle him, landing on top of the thankfully carpeted floor with his brother pinning him to the ground. “Here I try to do something nice for you-“

“Trying to murder me is nice?” Willy demands, digging in with an elbow and trying to flip Alex off of him. His brother just laughs, shifting slightly so he’s sitting on top of Willy’s chest. It should be harder to breathe than usual, but with his brother grinning down at him, it’s easier than ever.

 

 

But then Willy’s at the draft, and he’s frozen in his seat, barely able to breathe. His anxiety is in his medical records, which means the teams will know about it, which means that they’ll have to gamble on a player with anxiety, and nobody will want that. He’s not going to get drafted in the first round for sure and he might not get drafted at all and it’ll be humiliating and he’s a failure and-

Alex reaches across their parents to put a hand on top of Willy’s, meeting his eyes. Willy turns his hand over to hold Alex’s tightly and squeeze it so hard it must be hurting Alex, but his brother just smiles reassuringly at him. Nodding back at him, Willy refocuses on the stage and lets Alex’s touch ground him. He’s projected to go well in the draft, and he knows that Alex at least won’t care even if he doesn’t get drafted at all, and Alex has always been the only thing Willy truly needs.

And then - “Toronto is proud and happy to select, from Modo, Sweden, William Nylander,” Dave Nonis says, and Willy – Willy’s been drafted. He’s been drafted in the first round, and the band around his chest disappears immediately. He couldn’t stop the smile on his face even if he wanted to as he hugs his parents, and then Alex. 

“I knew you could do it,” Alex says as he hugs him. Willy doesn’t have enough time to say what he really wants to because he has to hug the rest of his family and then get up on stage, but he knows Alex will understand just from the look in his eyes.

It’s like a dream come true as he slips the Leafs sweater over his head. He hasn’t actually made the NHL yet, but nothing’s going to stop him now. He’s going to be a Toronto Maple Leaf.

 

 

He doesn’t make the Leafs roster out of preseason, but that’s okay. He’s okay with it. And even better, Alex is right near him. He knows his brother signed with the Steelheads partially to look after him and keep Willy’s anxiety from getting the better of him, but it’s still nice to get to see his brother often. And, much as he might dislike the fact that he relies so much on his brother for his mental health to be stable, he doesn’t mind the panic attacks being less constant.

He gets called up in late February, and while he’s thrilled to finally make it to the NHL, he’s also freaking out. He locks himself in the first supply closet he finds, keeping the light off because it’s easier to calm himself down when there’s less to overwhelm him.

Alex is first on his speed dial, and his brother is probably already on high alert given the situation. Sliding down with his back against the door, Willy calls his brother while he tries to suck in air through his constricted lungs. He probably should’ve taken his anxiety meds before this, but he stupidly didn’t want to before his first ever NHL game.

 _“Willy?”_ Alex asks. _“Panic attack?”_

“Yeah,” Willy wheezes, wrapping a hand around his necklace in an attempt to ground himself. It doesn’t work as well as when Alex touches him, but touch of any kind helps him. 

_“Okay, you know the drill. Match your breathing to mine and you’ll be alright,”_ Alex says, voice falling into its usual cadence. He’s gotten way too much practice at talking Willy down, and Willy hates that his stupid thing has impacted his brother so much.

As panic attacks go, this one surprisingly isn’t bad. It seems incredibly dumb that he’s freaking out less about his NHL debut than about the nothing he usually freaks out about. He doesn’t even start crying like he usually does.

 _“Are you alright now?”_ Alex asks. _“You’re going to be great tonight, don’t worry so much. Just try to enjoy it.”_

“I’ll be okay. Got a little caught up in my own head, I guess,” Willy admits. “I didn’t want to take my meds today, I was being really dumb. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

 _“I always want to be here for you, you never need to apologize,”_ Alex says. _“You’re going to be awesome out there tonight, okay?”_

Willy manages a smile, staring up at the darkness of the closet above him. He wishes Alex could be here with him tonight, but he knows his brother will be watching every shift and rooting for him, and that in itself gives Willy the confidence he needs to push himself to his feet.

“I know. My hockey’s kickass,” Willy says. “We all know I’m amazing.”

Alex laughs, bright and happy through the line. _“Here I am, trying to be supportive, and you’re just being a jerk…”_

“I’m your older brother, that’s my job,” Willy shoots back. “I’ll talk to you after the game?”

 _“If you’re not busy getting mobbed after scoring a hat trick in your debut,”_ Alex says. _“Go, you have stuff to do that’s more important than talking to your little brother. Just remember us little people when you’re a big star, huh?”_

“Who are you again?” Willy chirps. “But you are right, I do have to go. Love you.”

 _“Go already!”_ Alex says exasperatedly, laughing at him. Willy reluctantly takes his advice and ends the call, already missing his brother’s voice as soon as he does. But he takes a deep breath and steps out of the closet. He’s going to play in the NHL and he’s going to make his brother proud.

“Alright there, kid?” Brooks Laich asks, wrapping an arm around Willy’s shoulders. “There’s no need to be nervous and hide from us, we’ve all been there.”

Willy chuckles awkwardly, wishing that his stupid brain would get the memo about not needing to get so worked up about things. “Yeah, I know,” he says instead, shrugging out of Laich’s grasp and following him into the locker room. He’s ready for this, even if his stupid traitorous brain likes to tell him otherwise.

 

 

Willy’s not sure if he was more stressed for his draft or for Alex’s. He knows Alex is going to go in the first round, but he also knows that he’s not going to go first. He wants Alex in Toronto more than anything. He supposes another team in the east would be okay, but he’s also been spoiled by having Alex close to him for the past couple of years. He’s not sure he’s cut out to play probably his first whole NHL season with his brother far away.

“You’re looking uglier than usual,” Alex says, leaning around their mother to whisper to Willy. She swats Alex on the arm to reprimand him, but Alex just grins. “You sure you’re not the one waiting to get drafted here?”

“Very funny,” Willy rolls his eyes, forcing a smirk onto his features. Alex won’t buy it, he never does, but he’ll be reassured by Willy even managing that much. “I’m just not looking forward to being bored, since it’s going to be a very long while before you’re getting called.”

“Rude,” Alex glares at him, but Willy can see the concern in his eyes.

“Boys, settle down,” their mother says, gently nudging Alex away from Willy. “It’ll be fine, but looking immature in public won’t help either of you.”

“Yes, Mom,” they chorus in unison, and Willy grins more freely at their mother’s eye roll. He’s still stressed, and he knows from experience that it won’t go away until Alex has been drafted. He’s learned to hate anticipation more than anything else in the world, and it’s not exactly because of boredom. Instead, he gets progressively more ramped up as the clock ticks down to whatever he’s dreading, and even Alex’s presence isn’t always enough to keep him calm. It certainly helps, though. If he wasn’t here with Alex today, he’s sure he would be a wreck.

Half of Willy is praying that Alex ends up in Buffalo, but the other half is hoping equally as hard for any other eastern team. He wants to be geographically as close to possible as his brother, yes, but the thought of being rivals makes his stomach turn. They’re brothers, they’re not meant to be truly fighting against each other.

But, of course, Alex goes 8th overall to Buffalo. It’s so quick that Willy barely has time to process that it’s Alex before Tim Murray is done speaking, and then they’re all jumping up and hugging Alex. Alex, who is going to be a Sabre. Alex, who is going to be living somewhat near him and in the same time zone as him. Alex, who is going to be on a team that hates the Leafs with every bit of passion in their hockey. 

Alex hugs him just a beat too long as he goes through their family, holding Willy tightly enough that his warmth helps dissipate some of the anxious numbness that’s sweeping through him. He smiles at Alex, determined not to ruin his brother’s moment, but it’s too late, Alex already has concern in his eyes as he reluctantly pulls away to hug their mother. Nobody else will notice the distress of either brother, Willy’s sure, yet he feels even more anxious now. It should be over, Alex has been drafted. But his fucking brain won’t let it be at that, instead trying to bring Willy on a dark spiral of a future where he and his brother grow apart because of their teams. 

He can’t let Alex know, though. For once, he needs to keep his brother from being able to see through him at a glance. As Willy sits back down, some part of him feeling wrong at seeing Alex in the blue and gold, he clenches his fists and breathes slowly. His mother glances over, clearly concerned, and Willy smiles at her. It wouldn’t be convincing to Alex, but she seems to buy it.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he mutters to his mother several picks later. She nods and smiles at him, and Willy shuffles down the row in front of his family, forcing himself to walk at a normal pace until he’s out of the room. Once he’s away from people, he nearly runs to the bathroom, the band around his chest tightening with every step. 

His hands are shaking almost too much to lock the stall behind him, but he manages it because he can’t let anyone else see this. He chokes down a pill, wishing that he had some water to wash it down with, but he does manage to keep it down. It’ll take a few minutes for it to kick in and for him to calm down, so in the meantime he loosens his tie and reaches under his shirt to grip his necklace tightly. The warm metal cuts into his palm as he lets the touch ground him. 

He gives himself five minutes to clutch his necklace and count his breaths, then flushes the toilet and steps outside to wash his hands. Thankfully, there’s no one else in the bathroom, so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone noticing how long he was in there.

His mother gives him a worried look when he sits back down, but the medication has started to kick in, so he can lean back in his seat and smile lazily at her. She looks appropriately mollified. Alex is still off doing first round draft pick things, which means that Willy doesn’t have to worry for awhile about his brother finding out.

 

It turns out, however, that this is one of the really bad days, where even with the medication he can’t keep himself under control. It’s only by the constant litany running through his head that this is Alex’s day and he can’t ruin it that he keeps it together in the slightest.

But when he gets back to the hotel room that night that he and Alex are sharing, thankfully before Alex, he immediately goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He can’t have another dose of his medication for several hours but the anxiety is pressing in on him and he can’t breathe and it’s been years since he’s had to lock himself in somewhere to hide without knowing that he can call Alex for help and he tears off his tie so he can clutch at his necklace with a death grip but it’s not enough but he absolutely cannot call Alex because it’s his brother’s day and he’ll ruin it just like he ruins everything for Alex. Alex had to sign with the Steelheads so he could be close enough to manage Willy and now it’s going to be harder for Alex because he’ll be on a rival team of Willy’s and Buffalo might have Jack Eichel but Toronto’s going to be contending before Buffalo and the media will harp on the narrative of the two Nylanders and it’s all Willy’s fault because he can’t do anything right and he can’t even breathe right and he can’t get through his brother’s draft day without having a panic attack and crying in a darkened bathroom.

“Willy?” The door to the hotel room opens, and Willy panics, fumbling behind him to turn on the shower so Alex won’t come bursting in to see him like this. The curtain’s not closed so the water sprays out into the room and is getting Willy’s suit jacket wet and he flinches at it because it’s too much but he can’t get up to close the curtain anyways. “You in the shower?” Alex calls, and Willy’s heart freezes at the chipper, happy tone of his voice. He absolutely cannot ruin this for Alex.

“Yeah,” Willy manages, and he thinks he does a remarkable job of keeping his voice even. Alex’s footsteps stop outside the bathroom, though, and Willy chokes on the breaths he’s not getting because Alex can read him too well and he’s going to come in and his day will be ruined and he’ll hate Willy forever-

Willy buries his face in his hands when he hears Alex slowly pushing the bathroom door open. He doesn’t look up when he hears Alex shut off the shower and he doesn’t look up when Alex pulls him forward and against him, taking Willy’s hand that’s not clutching his necklace and entangling their fingers. Alex presses their joined hands against his heart, letting Willy feel its steady rhythmic beat as Alex starts to count breaths for them. 

Willy tries to push all his thoughts out and just focus on Alex’s heartbeat and his voice. It’s far more difficult than usual, even with Alex here and holding him. He can tell Alex is alarmed by how long it’s taking too, because his heartbeat picks up pace even as his voice never falters. Willy’s vision is starting to go fuzzy because of the lack of air and he’s still not getting any full breaths in and Alex is going to hate him for this because he’s ruined his draft day.

“Willy, you’ve gotta breathe, come on. Can you take your medication now?” Alex asks, pausing in his counting for a moment but keeping his voice low and soothing.

“Already-“ Willy wheezes out, but that seems to be enough for his brother to understand him, because Alex just nods and resumes counting as Willy does his absolute best to get more than a tiny wheeze of air. 

It feels like hours before Willy’s brain has calmed down enough that he can get enough oxygen in to not feel lightheaded. He’s too tired to move or stop the silent tears still streaming down his face, but Alex seems to be able to tell that he’s better.

“You back with me?” Alex asks gently, finally stopping his counting. Willy nods against his brother’s chest. “Alright, let’s get you in bed.”

Alex tries to get Willy on his feet, but his legs are nearly numb from sitting on the bathroom floor for so long. Instead of saying anything, though, Alex just takes nearly all of his weight, mostly carrying him across the room and into bed. He snags a water bottle from one of their bags, Willy’s too tired to care which, and presses it into Willy’s hand. Willy stares numbly at the bottle as Alex pulls off his shoes and unbuttons his shirt for him.

“Alex-“ Willy starts, but Alex shakes his head.

“Just wait a second,” Alex says, voice still gentle and quiet. He takes the untouched water bottle back, putting it on the bed next to Willy, and tugs him forward so he can take off Willy’s jacket and shirt, then steps away to rummage through another bag. Willy misses his touch as soon as his brother is away, reaching back up to grab his necklace. He lets his eyes slip shut while Alex bustles around the room, the quiet noise at least a reminder that his brother isn’t far.

“Sit up for me for a second?” Alex asks. Willy opens his eyes to find his brother standing next to him in sweatpants and a t-shirt, holding out a sweatshirt for Willy. He lets his brother manhandle him into it, but tugs his necklace out from under it so he can continue to hold it. 

“I’m sorry,” Willy whispers. Alex doesn't say anything, just pushes at Willy’s shoulder until he scoots over in the bed so there’s enough room for Alex to lie down next to him.

“You don’t need to apologize, and let’s just talk about it tomorrow, okay? Get some sleep now, I’ll be here,” Alex assures him, wrapping himself around Willy. It would feel like he’s being coddled if it were anybody else, but it’s Alex, so the touch just holds Willy together.

 

 

“You going to be good for playoffs?” Alex asks over dinner after the game between Buffalo and Toronto. They’re in a little hole in the wall place Eichel had recommended, and the locals are thankfully leaving them alone.

“I’m always fine when I’m playing hockey,” Willy says, carefully keeping his voice even. He wanted to go out to celebrate his brother’s NHL debut, even though the Sabres had lost, and of course Alex is turning it into concern about him.

“And beforehand?” Alex asks, also carefully neutral. 

“I’ll time things so I’ll be okay until a little before the game,” Willy says. Alex pokes viciously at the chicken on his plate with a fork.

“Look, I could go to Toronto to stay with you during the playoffs,” Alex suggests. Willy knows his brother means well, but he’s been feeling weird since the final buzzer had gone off. It feels so wrong to have played against his brother in a meaningful game, and even worse to have beaten him in his NHL debut.

“I’ll be fine. You won’t always be there, I have to learn how to deal with this without you,” Willy points out, shoveling food into his mouth to avoid dealing with the conversation.

“You’ll call me if you even think you might need it?” Alex asks. Willy nods. He owes Alex that much, at least. “Okay. Who are you hoping to go up against in the first round?”

“The Sabres,” Willy says, deadpan. Alex reaches across the table to smack him, but Willy ducks and lifts his fork threateningly, smiling at his brother.

“Fine, then, be a dick, see if I care,” Alex says haughtily. “Just wait, the Sabres will make the playoffs in a couple of years and we’ll destroy your asses.”

“Yeah, with you and Eichel and Reinhart and who else?” Willy shoots back. 

“The team, you dick,” Alex laughs, shaking his head. “You wait and see.”

“I’d love to, but I’ll be old and grey and watching my own children in the NHL by the time the Sabres make the playoffs again.”

“Yeah? Well maybe they’ll make a trade, Nylander for Nylander. I’ll win a Cup with the Leafs and you’ll squander your career on a team that’ll be utterly hopeless without me,” Alex chirps.

“You are such an asshole, you know that?” Willy says, conceding the point when Alex grins victoriously. He sobers a little, looking at his brother across the table. “Look, I hate being rivals with you, but I’m glad you’re close by.”

“I am too,” Alex says seriously, then lets a smirk cross his features. “It means we can beat up on you more often.”

“Did you hit your head tonight?” Willy asks. He knows Alex won’t buy his faux seriousness, but he’ll appreciate the effect nevertheless. “Because you’re a Sabre, not a Leaf. The Leafs are going to be the ones doing the beating.”

“Funny,” Alex says dryly. “You should quit your day job and become a comedian.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Might have half a shot at beating us in that case?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Uh huh. ‘Cause you’re the only one on your team who plays hockey.”

“Don’t you know it,” Willy grins, pasting on an air of confidence he doesn’t feel. He’s a good hockey player, he knows that, but half the time his brain likes to tell him that it’s his fault whenever something goes wrong with the team.

“Unfortunately, everyone does,” Alex says, and Willy wishes he couldn’t read the look in his brother’s eyes quite so well. He also wishes his brother couldn’t read him quite so well, but he knows that’s never going to stop. Alex will always have his back, whether Willy really wants it or not.

 

 

Willy plunks down into his stall once he’s showered and changed, pulling out his phone to check his messages. The locker room is rowdier than usual, guys excited about the victory over the Habs, but Willy doesn’t mind, even though he hadn’t had a great game personally.

In the midst of the usual post-game onslaught of notifications are a couple of messages from Jack Eichel. Willy’s heart immediately picks up pace, because he and Eichs don’t talk. Eichs and Alex are friends, and there are no messages from Alex like usual, which probably means-

 _Don’t know if you saw, but your bro got kinda fucked up in tonight’s game_  
_Might be done for the season_

And Willy – Willy can’t breathe. Alex is hurt and it’s bad enough that his season might be over and Willy isn’t there and Alex is hurt and he can’t breathe but he can’t do this here, not in front of the team but he can’t breathe and the band around his chest is strangling him and-

The noise in the locker room increases suddenly, coming closer to him, and Willy can’t deal with that. His racing heartbeat is too much for him to hear over and he can’t tell what they’re saying and it’s too much. He buries his face in his hands and tries to breathe but he just can’t and it’s too much and he can’t. Then Freddie’s voice cuts in, and it’s louder than the rest so Willy can tell it’s him but he still can’t make out the words, but the noise level drops and there are fewer people around him and there are hands on his arms, gripping tightly and pulling his hands away from his face.

“Willy, Willy,” Freddie repeats, kneeling in front of him. His grip on Willy’s arms is familiar, just like how Alex helps him calm down when he’s having a panic attack, but Freddie isn’t Alex and he needs Alex but Alex is hurt- “Willy. C’mon, you can breathe. Just do it with me, okay? In and out, you’ve got it.”

Willy’s still crying, but through Freddie’s gentle coaching, his breathing evens out a little. The band of tightness hasn’t dissipated like it usually does once he’s got his breath back, and he can still feel the anxiety in his gut that means that the slightest thing will set off another panic attack.

“I’m sorry,” Willy mumbles, taking a few slow sips of the water bottle that Freddie hands him. He rubs a hand over his eyes in an attempt to stem the flow of tears, but a fresh wave comes immediately and he gives up, too drained and overwhelmed to try again.

“If I touch you, is it going to help or make things worse right now?” Freddie asks gentle. He’s released Willy’s arms but is still kneeling in front of him, and Willy misses the grounding touch.

“Help,” he says quietly, and Freddie wastes no time in pulling him into a tight hug as Willy cries into his suit. It’s humiliating and thinking about his teammate seeing him like this is almost enough to send him spiraling back down into another panic attack. Freddie must hear his quickening breaths, though, because his grip tightens and he breathes slowly, exaggerating it so Willy can match his breathing.

“I’m okay,” Willy mutters after a little while, and Freddie slowly lets him go. He’s not okay, but he’s way beyond the acceptable time to be hugged by a teammate, so he has to pull it together. He’s already fucked himself over tonight, he can’t make it any worse. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Freddie says, tone impossibly kind, and Willy sniffles as he fights back more tears. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

“No, I can drive, it’s fine,” Willy insists as he feels his cheeks burn. He’s not sure he can deal with any more time with Freddie right now. “This is just a thing, it just happens sometimes.”

“It’s a thing as in it happens and you try to ignore it, or it’s a thing as in you have anxiety or something and are dealing with it?” Freddie asks. Willy is pretty sure he sounds more concerned than judgmental, but he still hates that Freddie is seeing him like this.

“The-the second thing,” Willy whispers. His throat is incredibly dry and it feels impossible to choke words out, but it’s too late now to not tell Freddie what’s wrong with him. “I’ve got anxiety. It-it normally doesn’t sneak up on me like this.”

Freddie’s expression is open and kind, not twisting into disgust at Willy’s weakness, and Willy feels a heady rush of relief. The band around his chest loosens enough for a moment that he can take a deeper breath.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” Freddie says. “Did something trigger your panic attack, or…”

“My brother,” Willy starts, but the rest of the words die in his throat. If he says it, it’ll be real, and if it’s real, he’ll have another panic attack because it’s Alex and Alex needs to be okay because if Alex isn’t okay then Willy can’t be okay and-

“Hey, don’t,” Freddie says gently, squeezing Willy’s forearm. Willy focuses on the touch and draws in a purposefully slow breath to calm himself down.

“He got hurt tonight,” Willy says, the words tasting bitter as he forces them out. “He’s normally – it’s usually him who helps when I’m – you know.”

“Hurt how? Can you call him?” Freddie asks. Willy opens his mouth to respond, but as if on cue, his phone rings from where he’d dropped it on the floor, loud and jarring. Freddie scoops it up and passes it to him. Willy’s hand is shaking almost too much to hold onto it, and it gets worse when he reads his brother’s name on the screen. 

He manages to answer the call, clenching the phone tightly as he lifts it to his ear. “Alex?” He asks, the slight tremble in his voice no doubt noticeable to his brother.

 _“Oh, fuck, you already heard,”_ Alex says. Willy can hear the pain in his voice, but before he can grill his brother about how badly he’s hurt, Alex is talking again. _“I’m so sorry, Jack just told me that he texted you, I meant to call you before you found out. Are you okay?”_

“Am I okay?” Willy repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who got hurt, Alex.”

_“Yeah, but you’re the one who had to worry from afar. Are you okay?”_

“Mostly,” Willy says, because the band is loosening at hearing Alex’s voice but not knowing what’s wrong with him is still a clench of anxiousness in his gut.

 _“Oh, fuck, you already- Fuck, I’m sorry,”_ Alex says. Of course Alex can tell from just a few words that Willy’s just coming off a panic attack. Willy loves his brother’s perceptiveness, but he sometimes hates how well his brother can read him.

“How badly are you hurt?” Willy asks, gripping the wood of his stall next to his thigh as his leg starts bouncing. The band is slowly tightening again the longer Alex goes without answering him, and he has to fight to keep his breathing even.

 _“Fucked up my knee, I’ll be out at least a few weeks. But it’ll be fine,”_ Alex says, words coming out quickly the way they do when he’s trying to keep Willy from spiraling into a panic attack. 

“What do you mean by ‘fucked up’?” Willy demands.

 _“Sprained. It won’t need surgery or anything. Just a week or so resting it, some rehab, and I’ll be good to go,”_ Alex assures him, and Willy can breathe again. The band is still around his chest, because he can’t hold and see Alex himself, but it’s loose enough that he’s not about to have another panic attack.

“Good, that’s – good,” Willy says instead, taking a deep breath and releasing his death grip on the stall. 

_“Are you going to be okay?”_ Alex asks. _“I’m really sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”_

“It’s not your fault. I, uh, kinda had a panic attack in front of the team and Freddie’s here now,” Willy admits, glancing up at Freddie, suddenly remembering that his teammate is still there. Freddie’s moved to perch in another stall a few down, and he’s looking at his phone, but he gives Willy a reassuring smile when they make eye contact. 

_“Oh, Willy,”_ Alex says sympathetically. _“Are they going to be okay about it? Are you going to be okay?”_

“I don’t know. I hope so. I just want to go home and sleep and not deal with it tonight,” Willy says, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s stopped crying, at least, but he’s incredibly wrung out now.

 _“That seems like a good thing to do. Don’t push yourself right now, go home and take a shower and get some rest. Your teammates will still be there tomorrow,”_ Alex says. Willy bites his lip, weighing his options. That’s incredibly tempting, and a conversation where he tries to tell his team about his anxiety right now, after he’s had a panic attack, is going to end in him crying. Which will be a million times worse than just having the beginnings of a panic attack in front of them.

“Yeah,” Willy agrees. It’s so much easier to not deal with it.

_“So get yourself home and call me when you’re there, okay? And then you can call me in the morning again and we can come up with a plan of attack, but don’t worry about it right now.”_

“Okay. That sounds good. Thanks, Alex,” Willy says.

 _“Anytime, Willy. I love you and drive home safely,”_ Alex says.

“I love you too. I hope your knee feels better,” Willy replies, ending the call and taking a deep breath.

“Is your brother alright?” Freddie asks, standing up and moving closer to Willy again.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. And, Freddie, would you mind – could you not say anything to the team? I’ll talk to them tomorrow, but I’m just – I can’t do it right this second,” Willy says, biting his lip. He can feel his heart rate pick up yet again, but Freddie nods quickly.

“Of course. Whatever you need right now, Willy,” Freddie says. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

“No, I can drive home. Thanks, though,” Willy gives him the best smile he can, which is probably more of a grimace, but it seems to be enough for Freddie at the moment.

“See you tomorrow,” Freddie says simply, giving him a quick wave as Willy makes a quick retreat out the back door of the locker room. He hears Freddie opening the other door behind him, presumably to let the rest of the team back in, but Willy’s already halfway out of the building.

 

 _“You look awful,”_ Alex greets him awhile later, once Willy has showered again and changed into his pajamas and is curled up in bed with his laptop. Seeing Alex, even though it’s just over FaceTime, makes Willy feel finally settled again. 

“You’re one to talk,” Willy says, because Alex is pale and looks exhausted. He’s still got tight lines of pain around his eyes, which makes Willy feel nearly sick. He hates seeing his brother suffering more than anything.

 _“Shut up, jerk, I’m injured,”_ Alex shoots back. _“So, you feeling better now?”_

“Yeah, I’m okay now,” Willy sighs. His eyes are nearly slipping shut in exhaustion now, and he sees Alex smile fondly at him from the laptop screen.

 _“You want to just go to sleep?”_ Alex asks. _“We can talk in the morning.”_

“I need to figure out what I’m going to say to the team,” Willy says. “Otherwise I’ll just be stressing about it all night. Half the team has already texted me asking if I’m alright and I haven’t been able to text them back.”

 _“You could just text in the group chat if you don’t want to talk to them in person,”_ Alex suggests. 

“That seems like a cop out,” Willy says, but it’s so tempting. He’s already feeling anxious just thinking about having to face the team and see their reactions in person.

 _"You don’t have to tell them anything if you don’t want to,”_ Alex says, and Willy is surprised at the anger in his voice. Alex has a protective streak, but it doesn’t come out often. _“Telling them over text is fine if it’s going to be better for your mental health. This is about what you need, not them.”_

“I guess,” Willy shrugs. It seems dumb and weak to have to do it over text, but he supposes Alex is right. Having another panic attack in front of the team won’t be better.

“Want to read me what you’re going to say to them?” Alex asks, and Willy smiles slightly despite himself. His brother knows him too well. 

“Yeah,” Willy says, grabbing his phone and tapping into the Leafs’ group chat. “How about ‘hey guys, thanks for the concern tonight. I had a panic attack because my brother got hurt and I have anxiety so things like that will sometimes cause panic attacks. They don’t happen too often and things are usually under control and you don’t have to treat me any differently because of it.’”

 _“That sounds good to me,”_ Alex says. _“Are you sure you want to tell them? You don’t have to, you know.”_

“I want to,” Willy says, and he really does, even though a spike of anxiety goes through him as he presses send. “They’re good guys, I’m sure they’ll be fine about it.”

 _“And if they’re not, I’ll go over to Toronto and beat them with my crutches,”_ Alex says fiercely. _“You know I will.”_

“Thanks, Alex,” Willy smiles, but it dissipates as soon as his phone buzzes with a response. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as he hesitantly unlocks his phone and glances through the several messages that have already come through. “They’re saying that they have my back and that they hope we’re both alright.”

 _“Good,”_ Alex grins across the screen at him. _“Think you can get some sleep now?”_

“Yeah. Thank you, Alex,” Willy texts back a quick thanks to his teammate and rolls over to plug his phone in for the night. “I’ve got an optional practice in a couple of days, and I’m thinking I want to drive down to Buffalo that day.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling at him. _“If you want to. I can’t promise I’ll be the best host, though.”_

“You’re my brother, you know I don’t care about that,” Willy says quietly. 

_“I know,”_ Alex says, sobering. _“And I’d love to see you. I’d ask if you’re sure you want to spend your free day coming down, but I know you better than that. I’m looking forward to it.”_

“Me too,” Willy says. “Thank you, Alex.”

_“You know I’m always here for you, Willy. I love you. Now get some sleep, okay?”_

“Okay. I love you too,” Willy smiles at Alex one last time, then reluctantly ends the call, yawning. It’s possible that he’s even more tired than he thought. But he feels a lot lighter, surprisingly, after telling his teammates. He’ll still have to deal with the rest of the fallout tomorrow, but for now, he can breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed!


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